Of Monsters and Men
by Aeire
Summary: After being abandoned by his beloved, the Opera Ghost substitutes another to take Christine's place by any means necessary. Human hearts, however, are not so easily corrupted.
1. Curiouser and Curiouser

**Of Monsters and Men**

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Phantom of the Opera. Really. I wasn't even born._

Phantom Note: The tale takes place five years after the burning of the Opera House.

Beta'd by the wonderful **Raxacoriocofallapatorius** and **Deception is Decepticon**. Dozens of lemon and cherry pastries for you both.

_'Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit' _

_– E. E Cummings_

* * *

**Chapter I: **_**Curiouser and Curiouser**_

**December 22, 1881**

_Amelie_

She wiped her brow and surveyed the floor. Nearly half done, but it seemed like it would take forever to finish. Her back ached from crouching for so long and her fingers were wrinkled. Her knees felt like they would collapse anytime soon.

"Meg Giry, thank you for getting us into trouble," the young girl deadpanned before rubbing her shoulders. After a few moments, she opened jar of wax before dipping a rag into it.

"Oh hush, we would not have been caught if a certain someone could lie a little better," the blonde beauty chided. A mop quietly swished before it was squeezed to allow water drip into a bucket.

"To your mother? Meg! Her glare terrifies me."

"Amelie, you only needed to mention we were heading to the costume room. But Dear Lord, to say we were looking for a 'supernatural entity'?" Meg quoted in dismay as she shook her head. "You might as well have told her we were looking for the Phantom."

"I have yet to see your fascination with this rumour. Whatever this Ghost is, it's just an old wives' tale," her friend exasperated.

"It is not a rumour! He still exists! And he is here somewhere! What happened to Christine is not a rumour, he's real."

"The next time you want to gallivant into the basement, please leave me out of this! You know your mother forbade us from going anywhere near there!" Amelie frowned, somewhat concerned. Meg's continued fascination with the ghost left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Oh honestly, what is a little fun between friends?" Meg dipped her mop into the bucket, and continued to clean the floors.

"Fun that we are stuck here cleaning the stage floor when everyone else has gone Christmas shopping? Meg. This. Is. Not. Amusing," Amelie said with a glare.

"That was today?"

"Is it not the twenty-second?"

"... Merde." Meg froze and stared at her friend with wide eyes.

"Language, Meg!" Amelie scolded. Although Meg was nearly three years older, it felt like Amelie was the older of the two at times. She stood up to retie her skirts tightly to her legs and surveyed the floor. It was nearly three quarters done with their work together for the past hour. Between mopping and waxing, the girls worked with minimal complaints throughout.

"No really, I forgot that was today. Dear Lord, I needed to go to Madame Debois' shop today! The shop closes after dinner time for the holidays!"

"The costume shop? Why would you need to? Meg, we are living in a theatre," Amelie reasoned, offhandedly waving to the hundreds of theatre seats facing them. "There are plenty of materials you can use here."

"No, I cannot. These are special; I need them for Mama's gift and my Masquerade dress! We need to hurry before the shop closes!" Meg panicked. "It will not reopen until after the New Years, and by then I will have little time to make my dress! Amelie, we need to hurry!"

Amelie stared at her friend for a short moment before biting her lip. There was only a little bit of the flooring left to wax and wash, and dinner was nearing soon. Meg had a point though; the masquerade would be during New Year's Eve, a week and a half from now.

"I can finish this up," Amelie relented. She may have been disappointed for not being able to shop for Christmas, but it was not like she had any money to begin with. Besides, at least the job would keep her occupied. A tiny part of her was a little relieved that she had an excuse from parading with Meg to the town square. She wouldn't be reminded of the lack of money and awkwardly staring at windows, too afraid to enter shops and peruse for pretty baubles.

Meg squealed happily and dropped her mop. The mop knocked entire bucket of dirty water onto the newly waxed floor.

Meg bounded towards her friend, unaware, and exuberantly crushed Amelie in a hug.

Amelie looked at the newly waxed floors covered in sludge and bit her lips harder from screaming. With an awkward pat to her friend's shoulder, Amelie bit her lip hard and reluctantly waved goodbye to her friend dashing away.

"I promise to get you a pastry in the shops! No, two pastries! Cherry, right? Thank you, Amelie!" Meg bounded towards the backstage, yelling.

"Lemon, Meg! It's lemon!" Amelie yelled back, cupping her hands to her mouth to amplify. The rag she held hit her face slightly. Hearing no reply, Amelie hoped Meg heard her. Wiping her damp cheek, she looked at the fallen mop bucket and groaned. In a peak of frustration, she threw her rag onto the floor.

Between the waxing the newly dirtied floor and everything else, it took her a good hour before Amelie was finally finished. Putting the cleaning supplies away and wiping her hands clean, she looked at the shining floors and was tempted to be the very first to dance.

Dancing on a newly waxed floor was like playing in fresh snow; the floor was pristine – no mars or scrapes and the different texture below her feet allowed for gliding. Rushing to put away her apron and don her ballet shoes and leotard, she was glad that the theatre was empty. Christmas was approaching after all.

The Opera Populaire reopened five years after the infamous incident with the rumoured Opera Ghost and rising star, Christine de Chagny, nee Daaé. It was rumoured that the Ghost murdered the Tenor star, Piangi, and kidnapped Miss Daaé in the confusion. Piangi's death was later listed as suicide, since there was no evidence of murder.

The details were lost in the midst of fire and screams of the hysteric audience, and the story constantly changed from one mouth to another. However, the results were always the same. The opera burned from the chandelier's destruction, and the mob descended into the catacombs to find the elusive Opera Ghost. Anything of value was ransacked or destroyed. Christine Daaé married the handsome Raoul de Chagny after her mysterious reappearance from the kidnapping, and the Opera Ghost was never found.

With the new management company and repairs underway to restore the Opera Populaire's former glory, several wealthy patrons sponsored the theatre. The rumours of the Opera Ghost were a subject of fascination which nobles thought could attract an audience to the theatre. Anyone who had interests in the supernatural or ethereal realm would purchase seats in hopes of catching the Ghost. Such gossip fed the box office. Though, it was not just the rumours that attracted a large audience. The Opera Populaire was famed for its productions, architectures and castings. It was one of the few theatres that performed with high expectations, and anything to tarnish that image meant disgrace.

Meg Giry, a beauty at twenty years old, had an odd fascination with the legend of the Opera Ghost, and would never hesitate to make a reference to the strange happenings inside the theatre. Once, a stack of brooms collapsed after a particularly horrid rehearsal for Hannibal, probably due to excessive weight, and Meg Giry was sprouting that the Phantom was nearby.

Amelie Ventura, a slight girl of seventeen with light brown eyes and mussed auburn hair, would simply roll her eyes and amuse her friend. Her Italian family name associated with her given French name was uncommon, but in the midst of a grand theatre and a student of the ballet choir, Amelie Ventura was a nobody to the ton and the world. Her ballet sisters looked to her as a friend, and Madame Giry looked to her like a daughter. And really, that was all it mattered. That, along with her dancing and books.

Amelie was taken into care by Madame Giry six months after the Opera Populaire was burned. Between worrying if her children would be fed and if a roof would be provided over their heads, Madame Giry was nothing short of amazing and generous to even accept another desperate mouse of two and ten.

Due to Christine's relation with Meg and Madame Giry, Christine's new husband saw fit to oversee their welfare for his dear wife's childhood friend and surrogate mother. And so, the ballet choir was given a small studio near the theatre as a temporary home with a small monthly stipend for food and other necessities.

When news of the Opera Populaire reached about reconstructing and new management productions, no one was happier than Madame Giry and her daughter. Their life was dedicated to the opera and ballet. The near loss of their livelihood made them exuberant with happiness and gratitude once they were informed of the good news.

The renovations of the Opera Populaire were spectacular. Due to the harnessing of electricity in commercial carbon light bulbs by Thomas Edison in 1879, it allowed renovators to incorporate the new technology in the chandelier and stage lights. The wealthy patrons, inspired by both their love of the arts and new money, spared no expense to reprise the theatre of its former glory.

Anyone who had seen the Opera Populaire would swear by God that it has been carved by angels. And anyone who had seen any of the productions would swear by God that nothing else can compare.

But for now, it was Amelie who was seen practicing on the theatre stage after hours when seemingly everyone has gone shopping to prepare for Christmas and the upcoming masquerade. Her feet were sore, and her muscles were aching after the long hours of rehearsal for the production of Hannibal, and also from the recent cleanup of the stage floor.

After Madame Giry took her in, Amelie did everything to repay back by obedience and quietness. For as long as Amelie could remember, she was only taught to obey and do her duties. And she would do her duties well.

As she turned on a couple of stage lights and peered out into the seats, she wondered if there was a feeling of awe that inspired anyone on stage. The production of Hannibal would be the first time Amelie would be on casted in front of an audience. Feeling giddy and excited, she wondered how a full opera house would look like.

Amelie shyly took to the stage to practice her dances. She wanted to be better than just good. She wanted to show Madame Giry that her instructions would not be wasted on her.

The theatre was loud with silence, and it was daunting. With quiet determination, she imagined a vast audience and proceeded to dance.

Normally, a ballet dancer would require starting at six years old at the very least. Amelie was very late in learning, but endless nights of practicing to exhaustion and fierce determination helped her achieve to a level where the other ballet girls were at, if not a little better. She would sneak into any abandoned dressing room and practice as much as she could before she was missed and wake early to continue. The first year was horrible, painful and frustrating; pirouettes, splits, flexibility and to actually _jump and extend her legs_ was nearly impossible even by the second year. She lost count of how many callouses, bleeding toes and bruises within a week of starting. Amelie had plenty of accidents in knocking furniture down around to do this movement, not to mention the multiple times she collided into her friends.

Now, it was all worth it.

_I still need to keep my leg straight_, she noted as she landed with right leg extended perpendicular to the floor. _Alright, there is two weeks left. If I can practice like this for the next week from dawn to breakfast, I can at least work on my flexibility._

Taking a breather, Amelie sat down on the stage and peered into the audience.

"Really, I have no idea how anyone performing won't faint," Amelie murmured absently. She stood up to clean herself and ready for dinner, but she stopped before she took another step.

With a mischievous look, she looked around thoroughly for any signs of people before taking to the stage again. She felt a bit courageous and wondered if she would ever have the stage to herself again. And to imagine herself as a Diva, an impossible dream, to take the stage like it was rightfully hers, and to bring hundreds of people to standing ovation. She felt somewhat empowered and humbled. But more importantly, to let her soul fly through words of poetry and beauty into the ears of God would be a gift in itself.

Amelie took a shaky breath before shyly started to sing a prayer close to her heart, fit for the upcoming holidays.

_Nuit de Paix, Sainte Nuit.  
Dans l'étable aucun bruit.  
Dans le ciel tout repose en paix.  
Mais soudain dans l'air pur et frais.  
Le brillant coeur des anges  
Aux bergers apparaît._

As the final note died out, Amelie clasped her hands in prayer.

"Please Lord, bless Madame Giry for her generous heart, and taking me in as student and daughter. Please bless Meg Giry for her unfailing kindness and for everyone else to have a blessed holiday," she prayed nearly silently.

She paused a little, wondering if she should humour Meg's fantasy. "And if the Opera Ghost truly exists, please bless him with a joyous holiday as well. Amen."

Amelie sighed and blinked. Right, dinner time now. She hoped Meg remembered to get her lemon tarts.

As she turned away to shut off the stage lights, the shadows played tricks upon Box Five.

* * *

"But he is so handsome!"

"You saw him? Annette, you are so lucky!"

A mass of giggles followed. "Oh I know, I just wish he would actually look at me," Annette pouted. "He had the bluest eyes, oh I can just stare at him and be in love forever," she giggled.

"One of the wealthiest patrons, and he's a bachelor!" her friend, Violette, exclaimed.

"And he's young as well!" Meg piped in. "Amelie can attest to that, she saw him too!"

"Oh tell us! Where did you see him? We must meet him as soon as possible!" Annette pleaded.

"I am not sure; he mostly visits randomly to check up on rehearsals. Mama usually talks to him about the choir; I'm so lucky I'm around her to see his beautiful face!" Meg exclaimed, "But, I hear that he's going to attend the Masquerade. Best suit up, girls, if you want to catch him. He's handsome, rich and young. What possibly more could you want?" Meg reasoned.

She had a sparkle in her eyes whenever she talked about young, handsome men. Although Madame Giry protected her daughter fiercely from the wandering gaze of unmarried men, Meg Giry threw caution to the wind.

Amelie didn't say anything as she prepared for bed, twisting her tongue around her mouth to get rid of the cherry flavoured tarts. While she was disappointed it wasn't lemon, the pastry still should not go to waste.

True, she saw the claimed handsome bachelor, but other than his aesthetics, money and charming personality, there was really little else. Monsieur Stefan de Fontinelle was the son of the wealthy patrons sponsoring the theatre. To be blunt, Amelie had no idea why such a man of thirty was still unmarried or otherwise engaged. His parents, the Honourable André de Fontinelle and his wife, Regine, have expressed little concern over his marital status – a shocking feat to the masses, but their respectable standing deterred from too much gossip.

"Amelie, you've seen him, haven't you? Isn't he so handsome?" Annette squealed happily as she hugged her pillow to her chest. "I would die if he would ever look at me! Oh, I so want to be his wife!"

Amelie's eyes widened incredulously. "U-uhm, well perhaps he is? I haven't met him personally to say for sure, but Annette, you've only just seen him, why rush into marriage so quickly?"

"Why not? We are not getting any younger. I would gladly accept his proposal if he were to ask right now. It would be like a Cinderella story, a rich, young prince to carry you away off into the sunset! Just like the ones you read to us when we were little!" Annette exclaimed, wrapping a blanket around her body and rolling around it giddily.

"Oh Amelie, your face just says it all," Meg giggled as her friend grimaced and bit her lip. "You really don't find Monsieur Fontinelle appealing?"

"I-I… well, I think we should be focusing on the theatre, first. And, Madame Giry said she would never approve if one of us are distracted by someone like him," Amelie stuttered and clung to her pillow.

"Oh, poor Amelie, she always follows whatever Mama says," Meg giggled.

Amelie blushed. "I just don't want us to get into trouble. We should really be focusing on our performance and rehearsals. Heaven knows, I really don't think we should talking about marriage. We are too young!"

"Too young? Young? Meg, please enlighten me when our star Christine Daaé married," Violette asked impudently.

"I believe she was nearing her sixteenth birthday."

"Exactly, Christine Daaé was only fifteen when she met her two suitors, and she was engaged around at that age, too! Amelie, I really think you're going to grow into an old biddy if you find excuses from love and romance," Violette said condescendingly.

Amelie grimaced and ignored the latter sentence. "It was only the Vicomte de Chagny who proposed to her."

"No, you're forgetting someone extremely important," Violette paused dramatically. When silence answered her, "He's currently living in our theatre. How can you not know this?"

"Madame Giry doesn't allow male residents at the theatre. What are you talking about?" Amelie frowned in confusion. She was sure that no one was allowed to sleep in the theatre other than the ballet choir.

"The Opera Ghost," Annette whispered into cupped hands, as if afraid someone might overhear. God forbid if the Ghost actually listened in on their conversation.

Amelie frowned and rolled her eyes. "You know perfectly well there is no such thing. I'm heading off to bed, and I suggest you do the same. We have rehearsals again in the morning."

"Why won't you believe us, Amelie?"

"Ghosts do not exist. And the person who might have caused the fire years ago or even kidnap Christine, was most definitely not a ghost. He must have been a man," Amelie said exasperatedly, repeating it for the thousandth time. "You can't _touch _ghosts."

"But he was never found! How can you explain that?"

"He hid himself. Honestly, it shouldn't be hard to hide behind something if you're escaping a bloodthirsty mob. And that's just assuming he's _real. _Now please, can we go to bed?"

But Amelie's thoughts were running through her mind, even after the candles were snuffed out and the whispering of other ballet girls stopped. It was not the conversation of the Opera Ghost that bothered her; it was the prospect of marriage.

Marriage. The thought never came to her when she was dancing or servicing the noble families her entire life. The obvious facts were: she had no parents to set up her suitors or prospects, or even a dowry. She had no standing, or even prominent connections. She barely stepped out of the theatre to meet new people. In fact, the only men she talked to were the stagehands responsible for the theatre's equipment. Though limited, it was still some sort of experience.

Being sheltered by Madame Giry and her unwillingness to talk to other people outside of the theatre made Amelie the most unlikely choice to be married. Meg though… beautiful Meg had dozens of suitors lined up. With sparkling blue eyes and golden hair, it was plainly obvious the girl must be protected by her mother nearly every day. There was no reason for a man not to be attracted by her; and if Meg was still unsuited for marriage, there was absolutely no chance for her to find someone as well.

Besides, didn't she say before that they really needed to focus on their dance performance?

Sleep now gone, Amelie blindly searched for her book in the dark. She might as well read. Sleep would come easier if she read instead.

Not wanting to disturb her friends, she lit a small candle and strode towards the door. She had one destination in mind, and that was the room with the large mirror.

She used this room for months, and absolutely loved it. Whether it was dance practice or a getaway to read, the silence of the room drew her like a moth to a flame. Meg once said it was Christine's room before she married, and no one used it since.

The room was ornamented in lavish colours. The bed drapes were made out of silk, and candles were placed nearly everywhere on wardrobes. Inside the room, a large mirror stood ominously at the side. The vanity desk was large enough to fit a Diva's entire makeup set and more. Since the room was never used anymore after the Opera Ghost incident, many thought it was best to stay away in case of an unfortunate accident.

Amelie opened the door and stepped inside. Her books and stacks of paper were littered across the vanity desk as she made haste to light the candles in the room.

When she was a maid in one of the noble's house, she made an effort to learn how to read when one of the Master's children was tutored. She knew some of the basics before; how to write the alphabets and pronounce simple words.

However, books held infinite knowledge and wisdom, and she needed to learn more. Each and every day, she would tidy up the master's children's books and take some of the notes to look over and read. Sometimes, she would listen in on the children's tutor for pronunciation practice, too.

In three months, filled a lot of eavesdropping, nightly studying and borrowing of her Master's books, she could read simple fairy tales and poetry.

Eventually, she wanted more than stories and myths. One of her masters, a professor at a distant university, specialized in the human body. Often, he worked long hours over his books and papers. When she tidied her Master's literary essays on the human body, she researched furiously on the complicated technical names. Often, she would point at her body and mutter the technical name when no one was around during chores.

For a girl that would furiously obey her Masters, she could not help but disobey in this societal norm. Knowledge should not be limited to the people born in a higher class or even _gender_, as ignorance bred hatred and fear. She learned that particular lesson when travelling; darker skinned people were sold like cattle and she often had to hear slurs thrown around like dirt.

Flipping her small leather book open, she perused through the medical notes she acquired from her previous employment. After, she cross referenced with the texts she conveniently found within the theatre. It was odd; finding these books – seemingly it had nothing to do theatre production. No one sane would leave dozen of francs worth of books lying behind a hidden theatre door. She was only able to find them after playing a game of Hide and Seek with some of the ballet girls.

There was a reason why she believed the Opera Ghost was not technically a ghost. Only a physical being was allowed to move inanimate objects, as one of Newton's Law clearly stated, 'For every force, there is an opposite and equal force applied.' Physic and its mathematics were still lost to her, and the technical names were even more complicated than biology – but she understood the simple concepts before effectively deciding not to try her hands on arithmetic.

Ghosts were apparitions at best, they cannot move an object if they are translucent. But of course, Amelie would never explain this concept to her friends. It was already bad enough they knew she didn't believe in ghosts, but to find out she was partially educated in the sciences, too? Well, it wouldn't be done.

She read a part of the textbook that suggested that there were small organisms capable of causing infections. Biology was still in its earliest forms, and there were many misleading information. After all, it was once thought the world was flat, so there was always a possibility of organisms smaller than an ant that can actually kill people despite being disreputed multiple times.

Jotting down notes with a small charcoal stick, she squinted her eyes and continued to read. Time passed indefinitely, but Amelie pushed through the faint fatigue and stifled her yawns.

She was just starting on the Louis Pasteur's Spontaneous Germ Theory, when a crash resounded.

Amelie jumped with a shriek and looked around.

"H-Hello?" She asked warily. Strange, it sounded as if it was coming inside the room. No objects fell and everything seemed so still.

Amelie stood and shocked herself when her eyes landed at the mantel; the timepiece on it indicated it was a scant few hours before dawn. Frantically, she tidied her notes and hid the textbooks underneath old story books. Blowing out all the candles except one, she pocketed her small notebook and made it towards the door. Closing the door behind her, a white flash caught her eye on the floor beneath her slippers.

"A letter?" To her horror, Amelie's name was printed on the envelope in elegant handwriting. "Is anyone there? Hello?"

Silence answered her back in the darkness. Eyeing the envelope for a moment, she opened the letter and read it in the candlelight.

_Miss Ventura,_

_As childishly endearing as your nightly adventures are,  
I will not tolerate a mishap in your performance._

_Should I ever find your recital lacking, the consequences are dire.  
You still have much to practice.  
However, I find myself intrigued of your voice.  
Untutored and inexperienced, yes.  
Do refrain from inciting God into your songs.  
After all, if you do not believe in Ghosts, how can you believe  
in God?_

_Your Obedient Servant,_

_- O.G._

_P.S. If you wish to be taught, sing once more. I will hear you._

"My reading adventures are endearing?!" Amelie seethed indignantly. The mortification that she was being treated like a child was soon overcame by the panic of a potential eavesdropping stranger. Beyond embarrassed and frightened, she sealed the letter and tucked into her pocket.

Her mind hastily recalled the signature at the end of the letter. As much as she liked to deny, the evidence was in her hands and the thoughts of the girls' gossip and Meg's warnings came to fruition.

She rationalized that, perhaps, one of the girls wanted to make a fool out of her. Or perhaps that it was her ballet instructor, Madame Giry. Her first name was Antoinette and the last, of course, was Giry. Amelie bit her lip in thought. It certainly sounded logical. After all, her brain was bombarded with facts and new knowledge of the texts. In addition, the lighting in the hallway was extremely poor. The letter 'O' must have simply been written off in a hasty letter 'A'. Perhaps Madame Giry was concerned for her wellbeing, but she ought to have wondered why she would be interested in her singing in the first place.

"Gods, Amelie, what did you get into now?" she scolded herself. She was just tired, she reasoned, and in no mood to play make believe.

Rushing to bed quietly, she immediately hid her letter within her book and covered her head with the blanket as if to ward herself from prying eyes. She was shaken at the fact someone may have known about her reading and academics. Though, how could there possibly be a leak? She thoroughly checked for occupants and always snuck around in the dark. In case if there was one, she decided to delay any further visits the dress room for a couple days to avoid suspicion.

And she _definitely _won't sing anymore, not if she can help it. Besides, she would rather face Madame Giry's wrath if she were the one who wrote the letter. Satisfied and thoroughly convinced that Madame Giry only warned her of her wandering, she punched her pillow in frustration. Her foolishness would've been discovered sooner or later.

Despite all that, she wanted to see her books soon. With a fading thought, she just hoped that whatever she wrote in her notebook would last her interests for a while.

* * *

"_I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole — and yet — and yet — it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what __can__ have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!" _

**_- Alice, Alice in Wonderland_**

End Note: *Chapter titled borrowed from _Alice in Wonderland _by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, also known as Lewis Carrol. It's not _Curious and Curiouser _(despite it being the popular phrase).

Thank you for reading my first chapter; I really hope you enjoyed it! I've been writing this story for about a year now, and I have blueprint for the rest of the story. I'm quite determined to see this through. My updates will be fairly regular, depending on my course load and homework, and if you need a reminder, check my profile for news.

In case if you were wondering, the Christmas carol – Sainte Nuit (Silent Night – in French) definitely checks out. It was created in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber (Original lyrics were German).

Please review this story! I would love to hear your thoughts and/or any constructive criticism you have to offer! It makes me motivated and it definitely makes my writing better.


	2. Ghost of Christmas Past

_Disclaimer: No claims to anything Phantom of the Opera related, except a copy of a CD. I think_

Phantom Note: Clues within the text shall help you with your test.

Beta'd by **Raxacoriocofallapatorius** and **Deception is Decepticon. **Wish you both a great holiday!

* * *

'_Ghosts seem harder to please than we are; it is as though they haunted for haunting's sake - much as we relive, brood, and smoulder over our pasts'_

_ - Elizabeth Bowen_

* * *

**Chapter II: Ghost of Christmas Past**

_**December 24, 1881**_

_Madame Giry_

"How many times have I told you? Maintain your posture after the landing. You are not ugly ducklings. I will not have this disgrace reflect the name of theatre. Once more!" Madame Giry chastised impatiently. Her face, worn with experience and age, contorted. After five years, she still struck an imposing figure to all. With her severe black dress, cane and grey streaked hair wrapped tightly into a bun, Madame Giry was not one to trifle with.

The ballet choir practiced after breakfast, as per their usual routine, and yet the girls seemed so unmotivated and clumsy.

"The production of Hannibal is a little more than three weeks away, and you have yet to master this simple move? It is imperative we finish this before final rehearsals!" Madame Giry continued. She rubbed her fingers into her temple. Her headache was threatening to explode into a migraine; her frustrations mounting when she watched a girl trip over her feet.

"Now, now Madame Giry, is there a need for harsh critique? These lovely girls have danced spectacularly, if I do say so myself," an amused, masculine voice announced.

Almost immediately, several of the ballerinas squealed in delight.

"It's Monsieur Fontinelle! Oh, he is so handsome!"

"Monsieur Fontinelle, what a surprise," Madame Giry deadpanned. God have patience, she did not need another distraction from rehearsals. Not wanting to be rude to one of their patrons, she turned towards him with a stony glare.

"As their ballet instructor, I can assure you that their dance is anything far from spectacular. Now, if you are looking for Monsieur Firmin and Renard, they are present today in their office. My children need as much practice as possible."

"You have my sincerest apologies, Madame Giry. I have come unannounced after all. I am merely curious on the production's progress. As you said, Hannibal is premiering in two and a half weeks. My friends have expressed their concerns and excitement," Fontinelle replied. "May I relieve them of their worries by watching the recital for a moment? It would mean so much. Afterwards, I will bother you no more."

Madame Giry eyed the aristocrat critically. Monsieur Fontinelle certainly knew how to charm a young girl, judging from the excitement the ballet choir elicited. Blonde hair, blue eyes and broad built, she had seen it all. Young fops hoping to charm young ladies into their clutches with romance and pretty words. If the girls were to fall for that trap, they would be left destitute and without her honour. However, Fontinelle was certainly wealthy enough to fund the productions; she could not be rude to their primary benefactor. Giry knew she had to watch her young ducklings a little more closely.

"Of course, Monsieur, we shall be happy to receive your audience," Madame Giry acquiesced with a nod of her head and turned around with a hidden grimace. Her ballet dancers immediately went into formation with an exuberant and determined look in their eyes, hoping to impress the handsome man.

Giry raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Surely, the girls had better sense than this. Her own daughter, Meg, could barely restrain her grin, and along with most of the girls whom were trying to catch the Monsieur's eye. She noticed, with a tinge of pride, that one of her surrogate daughters merely waited for her instructor to start.

Sweeping her eyes over the girls once more, she gave the signal for the orchestra to start.

As the violin resounded throughout the theatre, the ballet girls nearly glided gracefully on stage. Giry ruefully had to admit that the Monsieur's presence actually motivated the ducklings to dance far better than the last rehearsal.

_'Violette and Annette, those two girls are still not improving their posture.'_

_'Meg needs to land softer.'_

_'Amelie has improved from two days ago. Has she been the only one practising?'_

_'Fleur and Esme, these two girls are almost hopeless. I will need to work on them for the next few days after Christmas.'_

As the music faded, the girls struck their final pose and smiled blindingly to Fontinelle.

"Bravo! C'est magnifique!" Fontinelle clapped enthusiastically and gave a standing ovation to the girls. They blushed and giggled loudly, hoping that the handsome man take interest in them.

Giry cleared her throat loudly and tapped her cane. The girls quieted and turned to their instructor.

"Thank you, Monsieur, for your kindness. However, there are some movements the girls need to practice," Giry said reluctantly. "Would you be interested to watch the entire practice? I fear the girls would need some sort of audience to motivate them."

"It was splendid, Madame. I'm afraid I will have to watch another time. I am due to run some errands with Monsieur Renard. Perhaps, I will be able to return soon if I had some help. Would you kindly show me the way to their office? Even after all this time, I am rather hopeless at following directions," Fontinelle asked innocently. As one of the patrons for the theatre, he would be expected to know where the office was located. After all, his business is dealt solely with the managers.

Giry narrowed her eyes at the blatant lie, and opened her mouth to reply.

"I can show you the way, Monsieur!" Meg offered.

"No, Monsieur, allow me!" Annette cut in. The girls started to throw in their own offers and argued whether who should go instead.

"Enough!" Giry commanded. Of all the worst times for Meg to bud in, this would top everything. "Amelie, come here."

Nervous and wincing at the jealous glares, Amelie strode to her instructor's side. Ignoring her friends' groans and muted complaints, she nodded her head respectfully.

"Show our esteemed guest where the Manager's office is, and make haste. I want you to return as soon as possible for the final performance. You have improved, it seems, so you may go," Giry explained. Of all her students, Amelie appeared to have a good head on her shoulders. Giry can be a little relieved that Amelie may be able to take care of herself.

"Yes, Madame," Amelie replied and nodded her head again. "Monsieur, right this way please."

"Now for the rest of you, work on your posture! I expect you to stand straighter by the end of the first jump. I do not want any more sloppiness," Giry commanded, before looking at her surrogate daughter and the patron at the corner of her eyes.

Fontinelle extended his arm for the girl to take it. After a moment's hesitation and reluctance, Amelie, very lightly, put her hand on his elbow and allowed him to lead the way down the hall.

Giry ground her teeth; she hoped she made the right decision.

It was only after ten minutes when the girl returned, wiping her left hand in the skirts of her ballet attire. She bowed her head again and went to her position. The other girls eyed her with envy and surprise; wasn't Amelie happy that she received attention from such a handsome man?

The orchestra once again played, and the dancing troupe silently and unanimously decided that Amelie was in for a bit of interrogation for tonight's Christmas Eve party.

Sighing, Madame Giry dismissed her ducklings to ready for the Christmas Eve party. It was a running tradition that the production cast gather for gift exchanges and merriment for the night before returning home to their families.

Eyeing Amelie, Giry bid her to her side by curling a finger.

"Did you have any trouble with Monsieur Fontinelle?"

"N-No, Madame. He only asked me my opinion of the theatre and my interest in dancing. I only replied that I held it in great regard. He also asked me for my name." Amelie stuttered, her face red with nervousness. Unconsciously, Amelie wiped her hand again on her skirt as if ridding herself of his touch.

Giry hummed, "Yes, well Monsieur Fontinelle is generous with both money and his affections, it seems. Be cautious, Amelie. His kind is all pretty words, but no substance."

"Yes, Madame," Amelie answered as she stared at her feet. She seemed reluctant to talk. "M-Madame, I was wondering if you found my hobbies eccentric. If so, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I just thought it was a bit harmless at first, honestly."

"What are you talking about? Hobbies? Is this referring to the extra practice you've done?"

Amelie blinked owlishly and stared at her instructor. "I-I mean my late night-time activities, surely you must've written the note."

"Note? Amelie, I have written no such thing."

Amelie stared for a moment before blurting out, "Oh, perhaps it was one of the girls playing a prank! I thought so, too. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I shall talk to them right away."

Amelie bowed her head and hesitated for a moment, "Madame, also, can you please tell me how I can improve my performance? I would like to practice a bit more before tonight's gathering."

Giry raised her eyebrow. Was the girl hiding something? Or perhaps, as she said, a prank one of the others played and she was simply the victim. "Your landing needs to be graceful, and the pirouette needs to be controlled. Although you have practiced and excelled with the leg extensions, be sure to continue. You do not want to be stiff. Remember that a swan moves with her entire body, so be sure move your head along with the music. You should not be a stick when dancing."

Amelie smiled broadly. "Yes, Madame, I will work on that immediately."

Giry nodded. "I am glad. Now, I have an errand to run. Be sure to turn off the stage lights before you exit," Giry commented before turning away.

"And refrain from leaving your room. You never know when the Opera Ghost will be right behind you," Giry teased, but the girl would never know of the joke when it was said in a serious tone.

Amelie's face drained and nodded rapidly. Turning away, Giry made sure her student was practicing before she exited the stage.

Through the winding hallways, Giry came to the basement doors of the theatre and cautiously looked around. Finding and hearing no one, she lit a torch and prepared to dismantle and traps _he_ had set forth.

The pathway was dark, and the stone stairs winded down continuously. She sidestepped all the traps on the stairway; anyone unfortunate to step on them would receive a most unpleasant surprise. It was a long time since Giry last visited, and she hoped that this meeting could be delayed. Alas, the new patron may give her ducklings some trouble.

It took a while for her to make it to the tunnels, and even then it was not safe. The passage changed over the years; more traps were laid and the maze seemed impenetrable if one did not know where to go.

There were many floor traps; many of which could spell the end of a human life if they were not careful. A secret passage through the halls led to the centre of the dark maze to only a select few had the privilege of knowing. Hundreds of candles lit and reflected off dozens of candelabras and musical instruments. The lake gave a misty aura and fog raised from it covered the stone floors. The stalagmites hung eerily from the ceiling, threatening to fall on an unsuspecting victim. A grand majestic organ stood against the cavern's wall with many music sheets littered around it.

Further scrutiny allowed Giry to exhale in relief. The horrifying life-like doll of one of her surrogate daughters, Christine Daaé, was gone. However, the swan bed meant for her still remained untouched. The cave was an ominous setting reserved for death and ghosts; and although red drapes and precious gold decorated the cavern tastefully, it was frightening. However, this, ominous and yet beautiful cave, still made Giry shiver despite having seen it multiple times. It looked as if the Grim Reaper himself decided to revamp the tunnels and catacombs.

"Madame Giry, to what do I owe you for this pleasant delight?" his voice echoed behind her.

Giry winced minutely and turned around. After so many years, the Phantom's voice still incited both fear and wonder.

"Good evening, Erik," Giry spoke carefully. "I see you have restored your home to once it was before. How did you manage to get your treasures back? Surely the mob must have ransacked this place."

The Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost, the Man in the White Mask. The man in question was called by many things, but next to no one knew his birth name.

Erik stood rigidly atop of the stairs and looked at her with mocking golden eyes. His white mask carefully placed on the right side of his face and nose to cover the deformity that literally brought down the Opera Populaire. His black hair slicked and combed. His clothing, consisting of gentleman's vest, frock coat and trousers, was still the same sharp black he wore years ago. In essence, he did not change – still the same ominous aura that terrorized the Opera House years ago.

"Your assumption is correct. It was destroyed, everything from my organ to the beloved music sheets I wrote. I merely acquired them back through my own means, of course. The dead, I find, do not need such things in the afterlife," Erik taunted, innuendo colouring every word. "Now, are you here for idle prattling, or was there something you want?"

"After all these years, you have not changed," Giry stated after swallowing thick bile down her throat. She dared not think about what he really meant. "I have come to inform you of the new patron we have received. So far, I have reason to believe that Monsieur Fontinelle may give my students trouble. Young fops these days do not know when business is done, it does not equal pleasure. I have also received a notice from the new managers; they've agreed to pay your salary of twenty thousand francs purely out of tradition. Box Five will be kept empty, no questions asked. As long as your existence is kept between the manager and us, they've agreed to your terms."

"And they did not even need my letter for this. I must say, I am impressed."

"Monsieur Firmin believed that traditions must be continued; he also mentioned after the… incident, it was important for the Opera Ghost to be content," Giry hesitated.

"I noticed; I would've expected he move out of the city with the other idiot of a man for an early retirement. Wasn't his name Armand?" Erik mused as he crossed his arms.

"Monsieur Firmin claimed that many patrons were able to sponsor the theatre's production; twenty thousand francs is merely nothing, so to speak," Giry replied, ignoring his jab. She was entirely unsure how to converse with him. After so many years, Giry could only depend on him to be unpredictable at the very least.

"Merely nothing? My, my, we must simply raise the stakes, no? I wouldn't want my managers to be lax in their affairs."

Giry frowned angrily and retorted, "Twenty thousand francs is more than enough to cover for your expenses. Might I remind you that this theatre cannot bear for anymore theatrics from the Opera Ghost? We were left without a home for nearly three years, having to survive on the kindness of Christine and Raoul to have food in our mouth."

Erik's eyes, once amused, hardened with near uncontrollable rage. "Tread carefully, Madame Giry. You know the consequences to have that name uttered in my presence," he whispered venomously.

Ah, so the Ghost still cared for his beloved soprano, or at least harboured a deep resentment for her intended. At that moment, Giry did not know whether to pity the man or despair for his misfortunes.

"For the first few weeks, we had nothing. Some of the girls had to return to their families, and Meg and I had to take care of the younger ones – all of them orphans. Not only that, but another girl joined us and we were already barely surviving…" Giry trailed off quietly. She shook herself from the self-pity.

Squaring her shoulders, Giry looked directly in Erik's eyes. "This is our home. We have nowhere else to go. And I will do what must be done to prevent those girls to live the same fate we once had to endure."

"So, your claws have unsheathed," Erik mused, "No matter, Madame, I understand your need to protect your cubs. As for Monsieur Fontinelle, I have seen him. It is amusing that not all your cubs have been charmed by his radiant, _sickening _Adonis persona," he narrowed his eyes as his fist clenched as he emphasized each word.

"If you are referring to young Amelie, that is why I sent her to show him the Messieurs' office," Giry explained warily. Had Erik start overseeing the theatre's management already? To be honest, she wouldn't be surprised if he did. Nothing slipped past his nose... or lack thereof.

"Quite, and I do believe she is rather entertaining. I must see how this unfolds," Erik mocked. His eyes held something Giry did not like; it was as if he was deliberately hiding something. As if he was caught doing something wrong, Erik narrowed his eyes. "Do not worry; I will watch him, but do not think I am doing this for you. After all, one's greatest enemy is boredom at times like these."

"As long as your plans do not leave us out on the streets, I would be grateful for a little peace for the upcoming year," Giry said sarcastically. She brushed imaginary specks of dust off her dress.

"Now, I must be off. The theatre is hosting a party for Christmas Eve, and Mass is scheduled for midnight," Giry explained as she cautiously moved towards the staircase. Thankfully, Erik stood to the side against the cavern wall to allow Giry passage out. "I wish you a pleasant holiday."

"And to you as well, Madame Giry," Erik said smoothly. He bowed a little in respect, but Madame Giry couldn't help but frown. Nearly everything Erik did was a mockery.

As Giry headed as calmly as she could towards the top of the stairs to escape the overwhelming presence of the lair and its resident, Erik remained silent and still. As soon as she was out of earshot, she quickened her pace.

Making haste out of the cavern and back into the living world, Giry shuddered against the basement doorway and panted lightly.

What a frightening man. After all this time, Giry had a distinct feeling she was dealing with Death personally whenever she conversed with Erik.

Gathering what courage she had left, she made sure her dress and hair were ordered before proceeding to her room. It was Christmas Eve, and she was determined to end the night well.

* * *

The backstage of the theatre was filled with laughter of dozens of stagehands, ballerinas and musicians. A small band played lively music and girls were dancing joyfully with the finest clothes they owned. Colours of green, red and gold disarrayed in a giant kaleidoscope, and the air smelled heavily of cinnamon and holly. A Christmas tree stood merrily with scattered ornaments by the wall. Underneath, dozens of presents glittered enticingly, soon to be distributed in the morning to their rightful owners. It was not a party for the rich and etiquette people of society. That event would be reserved for the New Year's Masquerade ball where silks can be adorned.

The Christmas party catered only for the theatre's cast, where everyone – no matter where and who they came from, were invited to enjoy the festivities. It did not matter that the party was unfit for a Holy day; it was a time to celebrate as a family.

Messieurs Firmin and Renard were absent from the scene; having been invited to one of their patron's Christmas mass. As a sign of respect, they went, but also had with them no small amount of hope in procuring more money.

The Prima Donna La Carlotta was, of course, absent. Such a woman of high standing could not hope to be seen with unruly, _normal_ citizens of society. She accepted a position as the leading soprano in the theatre, arrogantly stating that the theatre was made in her honour for her misfortunes. It would be terribly rude if she turned down the offer – despite the fact she was offered a massive salary and inclusive vacation benefits. Her rumoured lover, Piangi, was killed during the last production before the burning. Piangi's death was ultimately ruled a suicide; the perpetrator was never found and there were no witnesses. Authorities deemed it no foul play despite the adamant protests of the audience. La Carlotta seemingly swept the issue under the rug, claiming he must've had a poor heart to begin with and cannot handle the stress of being a star.

The new Tenor star, Christophe Fabrucci, regretfully declined in order to see to his elderly parents in Venice. However, his gift was freely and graciously enjoyed by the many stagehands in the party.

Drinks and spirits flowed freely from one hand to another. Ale bubbled and frothed as it poured from multiple barrels. Several of the stagehands started a drinking game and sang terribly to various Christmas carols the music orchestra played.

Madame Giry watched with amusement as her young students narrowly escape the stagehands' mischief to lure them under mistletoes.

She held a glass of champagne in her hand, sipping every so often. She was not worried for them; the new management in the theatre was surprisingly respectful to the females. However, it was still not enough to relax her protective streak around them.

Meg was surrounded by several of her ballet sisters and some of the stagehands. While they were teasing and bashful, the girls were comfortable with them. Anton, Daniel, and Benjamin may be a mischievous bunch but they knew how fearsome the ballet instructor was. They would not harm her ducklings.

The other girls of the ballet choir were dancing to the many tunes the band was playing. Thankfully, they were together in a group, and were not surrounded by other lads.

"Oh come now, Violette! Don't be shy. It's just a simple hug. Nothing more!" Benjamin chortled as his friends laughed.

"Benjamin!" Violette blushed fiercely, scandalized.

"You know the rules," Annette teased as she fingered a small slip of paper. She knew her friend was infatuated with the Benjamin, the dark haired boy. This would be delicious gossip and teasing for later. "Either you finish the dare, or else you have to do something completely embarrassing _in front of everyone_."

"B-but," Violette stuttered. She looked beseechingly to Meg and Amelie. Meg had a wide grin as if she wished she could take a picture of the moment, while Amelie covered her mouth in silent laughter. Looking for an excuse, she reasoned, "Madame Giry is _right there_!"

"She wouldn't mind; look – she's not even looking at us. It is Christmas Eve; enjoy yourself! Gifts all around!" Daniel, the browned haired boy, laughed as Meg joined in amiably.

Shutting her eyes in humiliation, Violette's face turned purple with embarrassment as she lunged towards the boy in front of her and hugged him. Almost immediately, she let go and covered her eyes with the lavender sleeve of her dress in extreme distress.

"Eh, that's the spirit!" Anton, the ginger haired boy, chimed in an Irish lilt as he sipped his ale. "Alright, who's next?! Meg, my darling Meg! Now this girl can take anythin' thrown at her! What will it be, love? Dare or the truth?"

"Hm, I haven't done truth in a while, have I?" Meg pondered, tapping a finger to her lips. "Alright, truth! And remember, yea or nay questions only!"

"Now, love. I know a certain someone is a quite smitten with you. In fact, here he is right now!" Anton declared loudly as he pointed to the embarrassed boy right beside him. Daniel gawked and turned faintly pale, looking everywhere but at the blonde girl.

"Now, my question is, will ye be acceptin' his hand in marriage?" Anton joked as he swung his friend up to his side. Daniel jabbed his elbow at Anton's ribs, a little relieved. At least Anton didn't confess out right that Daniel harboured deeper feelings for the blonde ballerina.

"Anton! I think you had a little bit too much to drink!" Amelie gasped.

"Oh, it's alright Amelie, we all know that Mama will never let me," Meg giggled. "Poor choice in questions, Anton. Sorry, Daniel, but no."

"Ah, poor bloke. Don't worry lad, someday, you will find the right girl. Here! Have a sip of ale for your broken heart," Anton teased.

"Oh, hold your tongue, Anton," Daniel scowled. He took his friend's ale anyway and drank. Wiping his mouth, "I want to see if you can get a girl to like you."

"Eh? Well, of course the girls like me! That right, Amelie? It's your turn now, ain't it? Here, give poor ol' me a kiss, and we can show who likes who," Anton laughed uproariously. He slapped Daniel's back as if he thought the situation was the most amusing thing on earth.

Annette and Violette practically glowed with mirth. Truly, this was a moment to behold when their shy friend was finally involved in something scandalous as this.

"W-what? A-Anton!" Amelie squeaked as she blushed furiously. She clenched her hands into small fists and looked every bit of a scared rabbit. "I choose truth! Truth!"

"Nah, ah!" Benjamin interrupted as his ale splashed around his cup. "I distinctly remembered you answered three truths, already. Dear Annette asked you about that fop of a patron we have. Charming fellow, but a fop either way. It's a dare this time, girl. And I say, give Anton a kiss! Hear, hear!"

Annette slapped Benjamin lightly, "Inconsiderate boys. You should be ashamed of yourself for putting her on the spot. And I'll have you know, that's my future husband you are talking about."

"Ah, ah no stalling, so what will it be, Amelie? Kiss Anton, or the note," Violette mocked as her eyes widened when she touched the slip of paper in the centre. "You do realize we will never let you live this down."

The note held an anonymous dare, written by someone outside of the small group playing the game. It was only used if the dare or truth they were given was too embarrassing to complete, and they would rather risk the paper's dare instead.

Amelie stuttered and flushed. She cannot risk kissing Anton, and he was sober enough to remember and tease her for the rest of her years. Not only that, but with the gossiping trolls that were Annette and Violette were sure to spread it to the next continent by the morrow. Although it was just a simple kiss, it was something she had no free will over. She had never kissed before, and she definitely did not want to kiss someone she had no romantic feelings for.

Shaking like a leaf, she squeezed her eyes shut and pointed at the paper in Violette's hand.

"Ah, you wound me, Amelie!" Anton cried and clutched a hand to his chest. "Poor ol' me. Never to have my one true love!"

"Oh, quit the acting, Anton," Meg laughed. "You're quite awful at it! What did it say? Tell us, Violette!"

"Alright, your dare, Amelie, is this," Violette prepared as she deliberately opened the note slowly. "Oooh, this is a good one! I hope you can do this well, or we might have to boot you out of the theatre if you ever want to act. You have to _sing_ in front of everyone, and with the orchestra!"

A plunge of ice and fire hit her stomach as Amelie felt her blood drain from her fingers and toes. It felt as if someone stabbed a blunt knife into her stomach and twisted it slowly, prolonging the pain and anxiety.

Faintly, she turned to her friends and asked, "Where did you get this dare?"

"We asked some random bloke to write it before the game!" Benjamin cackled and chugged his ale. "Who cares? What song will it be? Mass starts in an hour! Gotta be lovin' God now! Christmas song, then?"

"Oi, orchestra!" Anton yelled loudly. The startled musicians stopped and rounded towards to Anton. Wondering why the music stopped, most of the guests looked around to see the source of the loud booming voice. "Play something for our little dancer, here, will ye? She's gonna be singing for all of us! Eh, what song haven't you played yet? Oi! Play First Noel! Everyone knows that one!"

"Ladies and Gents! We have a performer!" Benjamin announced. The performer in question wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark hole for the night.

"Oh, come on then!" Meg cheered as she grabbed Amelie's limp hand and dragged her to the top of the stairs. Amelie fruitlessly tried to pull her arm back, but Meg's grip was too insistent.

By then, nearly all the guests were looking at the commotion. Everyone whispered excitedly, laughed and looked amusedly as one of their ballerinas was dragged by Madame Giry's daughter. The other ballet girls had their eyes wide open and giggled at the embarrassing display.

Shocked and nearly pale with anxiety, Amelie followed and occasionally dragged her feet. Surely, this was just some sort of coincidence. The man who wrote the dare would be an employee here, and well it wasn't such a bad dare after all. Perhaps the note sent to her couple days ago had nothing to do with Christmas party. Yes, it was just a coincidence. _A very strange coincidence._

"There is no such thing as the Opera Ghost, there is no such thing as the Opera Ghost," Amelie muttered repeatedly as her friend left her on her own.

She saw every single pair of eyes looking intently at her. Fingers of ice clutched Amelie's stomach and her hands felt numb with prickles. Amelie had forgotten about the incident; her time was mostly consumed with the celebration and thoughts of gifts. The problem had only been delayed, but not resolved. And the fact that Madame Giry denied her involvement made it so much worse.

Ironic really, for she was forced to do something she wholeheartedly tried to avoid.

_And it was barely two days. _

As the orchestra started to play, Amelie fervently made herself believe that the Opera Ghost was a myth – a legend. She was stupid, that's all. Just plain nerves and an overactive imagination. Even with her rationalization, the icy fingers in her stomach did not dissipate, nor did her hands feel any warmer. She exhaled shakily to rid of her thoughts and inhaled again.

_There is no such thing as the Opera Ghost. There is no such thing as the Opera Ghost._

The first violin started to play before the entire band followed, and Amelie opened her mouth hoping that her voice wouldn't falter into a squeak.

_The first Noël the angels did say_

_Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;_

She could barely remember the words she sang, she only remembered the pounding beat of her heart and extra stretch of her lungs. It was as if someone else replaced her body.

_In fields where they lay, keeping their sheep,  
On a cold winter's night that was so deep:  
__Noël, Noël, Noël, Noël,__  
__Born is the King of Israel._

She heard the orchestra play faintly, but she cannot hear her own voice. She only felt a deep sense of calmness she could not explain. She never felt more alive.

_Noël, Noël, Noël, Noël,__  
__Born is the King of Israel._

When the guests started cheering loudly, Amelie blinked rapidly and shook her head. Curtseying lowly, she heard Benjamin and Anton whistle above the cheers before she ran down the stairs and sought sanctuary near her friends.

Flushing madly with adrenaline, Amelie exasperated, "I can't believe you made me do that!"

"Well, I'll be damned; you never told us you can sing!" Benjamin swore as he continued to clap.

"I can't! I don't sing_, really_!"

"You made your choice, little dancer!" Anton smiled. "Damn, any chance you can replace our Prima Donna?"

"Oh, shush," Meg scolded. "See, Amelie? It wasn't so hard. Let's hope the Opera Ghost didn't hear you, he just might snatch you away!"

"Meg!" Amelie cried. "Please, no more of that!"

"See? It wasn't that hard." Annette smiled broadly as she swung her arm over Amelie's shoulder in congratulations. "Girls, we should start getting ready. Midnight Mass starts soon. Unless you want to get into trouble with Madame Giry, we don't want to be late."

* * *

By the time the girls came back from Midnight Mass and prepared for bed, it was very late in the night. Mass took longer than it normally would. As soon as the girls exited the Church, they became excited as snow began to fall. Between the party, Mass and play in the fresh snow, the girls were bone tired and still grinning. However, the promise of gifts enticed them to stay awake.

Most of their ballet sisters were tucked neatly into their beds. Several of the stagehands had already distributed the presents underneath the Christmas tree backstage to each respective bed. Every end of each bed consisted of several packages similar to everyone else's; wrapped candy, warm mittens or a small trinket was the norm. Other girls who had parents sent several additional boxes to their daughters for them to unwrap later on.

"Merry Christmas!" Violette whispered excitedly, trying not to disturb the other sleeping occupants, "Don't suppose we can open our presents now, can we?"

"I'll probably wait to open with the others, but…" Annette trailed off. She snatched a small package and opened it. "Box of chocolates for all of us. That was nice of them. Did you get anything special?"

"Mama gave me a scarf! Oh, this is so warm!" Meg whispered excitedly as she buried her face into the cream coloured cloth. "What about you, Amelie?"

"U-uhm, I didn't check. I'll wait for everyone to get up before I open it. I'm exhausted," Amelie replied, her back towards her friends.

"Oh, you can say that again. Thank God we do not have practice tomorrow morning or I'll be in a very cranky mood." Annette replied, tucking her braid into a nightcap and collapsed onto her bed. "This is pure Heaven."

"Goodnight then, Annette," Violette mused, boxing her chocolate away. Her friend only replied with a grumble. "Suppose we should do the same, no? I heard tomorrow's breakfast will be very hearty."

"Always thinking of your stomach," Meg giggled. "Goodnight then. Amelie, are you coming to bed?"

"Hm? O-of course. I just need to find my nightgown. Pleasant dreams, Meg."

"And Merry Christmas!" Meg whispered over the slumbering girls. Most of them, those who were on the precipice of sleep, groaned their replies and the few others replied back with their own variation of Merry Christmas before settling into their beds. Almost immediately, nearly everyone was asleep.

Amelie sat on her bed for a long time, staring at a particular spot for no apparent reason. She didn't how much time passed, but once she didn't hear any further noise, she took the letter hidden from her sleeve and stared at it. The envelope was found atop her pillow with lemon tarts wrapped in a red bow. The envelope looked innocent enough, but her name was elegantly printed on it. The same writing she saw on her letter a few nights ago.

In the moonlight of the night sky and aided by the reflection of the crisp white snow on the windows, Amelie read the letter with her heart in her throat.

_Regardless of circumstance,_

_Little dancer, you sang your chance.  
As a token of my appreciation, enjoy the lemon tarts you covet most._

_For this event shall be marked, and do forgive me for my __verbose,_

_As I wish you very joyous Christmas holiday._

_Signed Your Obedient Servant,_

_O.G._

A chill ran down her spine, icier than the fingers that clutched her stomach during the party.

He heard everything; from her conversation with Meg to the prayer despite having it whispered.

Good God, _he heard Anton_ from the party.

Amelie stared at the letter again with wide eyes and turned to the bow-wrapped two lemon tarts. Seemingly innocent and enticing, the pastries laid on her pillow begging to be eaten.

The sudden realization left a stone in her stomach she cannot get rid of.

_He's real._

That night, Amelie did not sleep a wink.

* * *

"_He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count 'em up: what then? The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune." _

– Charles Dickens, _A Christmas Carol_ _  
_

* * *

End Note: *Title and quote borrowed from Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol*_

Happy Holidays to all of you and thank you for reading!


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